


The Lights That Guide You

by itsmoonpeaches



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Families of Choice, Family, Fire Nation Royal Family, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Minor Aang/Katara, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, POV Iroh (Avatar), POV Zuko (Avatar), Post-100 Year War (Avatar TV), Post-Avatar: The Last Airbender, Pre-Avatar: The Last Airbender, Spirit World (Avatar), mentions of Air Nomad Genocide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmoonpeaches/pseuds/itsmoonpeaches
Summary: “My beloved Lu Ten, I will see you again,” Iroh whispered into the air. The wind carried his voice away upon a muggy current. Around him, the setting sun. Deep red and dark orange, tinged with gold on the edges. Dipping into the blackness of night, like the life of his young son on the battlefield days before.-Or, Iroh journeys into the Spirit World in search of Lu Ten. Zuko uses this knowledge to help Aang move on from a lost friend.
Relationships: Aang & Bumi (Avatar), Aang & Fire Nation Citizen(s) (Avatar), Aang & Gyatso, Aang & Iroh (Avatar), Aang & Katara (Avatar), Aang & The Gaang (Avatar), Aang & Toph Beifong & Katara & Sokka & Suki & Zuko, Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Gyatso, Iroh & Lu Ten, Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko & Gyatso, Zuko & The Fire Nation (Avatar)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 153





	1. Like Ships

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, one of the biggest questions in the series: What happened when Iroh went into the Spirit World? How did Iroh change? This is the exploration of that. 
> 
> Yes, this is 2 chapters. However, the 2nd chapter focuses on Zuko and Aang more. Iroh's story here is related to that. The title of this work was inspired by "Fix You" by Coldplay, but the actual rendition that I listened to was a cover by Boyce Avenue. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“My beloved Lu Ten, I will see you again,” Iroh whispered into the air. The wind carried his voice away upon a muggy current. Around him, the setting sun. Deep red and dark orange, tinged with gold on the edges. Dipping into the blackness of night, like the life of his young son on the battlefield days before.

The sky cast a crimson shadow upon the hill with the dead tree. Above him, the clouds shuddered, and a peal of thunder rang out. Lighting reached like an arm of electrifying white, clawing its fingers, reaching for nothing. In seconds, the rain came, rippling puddles and soaking the grass.

The royal grave in front of him began to dampen. The stone lantern that had been lit above the gravestone snuffed out as more water cascaded from the heavens.

Iroh was an old general, battle-hardened, and once desperate for glory. He left the battlefield in those recent days, turning his troops back around when the great walls of Ba Sing Se would not crumble beneath his relentless struggle against it. Instead, he crumbled. He retreated when too many soldiers were lost, when his son was lost. When he was left alone. It had taken him six-hundred days and a whole lifetime for him to figure it out.

What was a war without the ones you loved? He had nothing else to fight for but himself, his father, and his own misguided dreams. Even now, he knew his younger brother, Ozai would be vying for the throne as he always had.

He had used to care about that, about claiming his birthright. But now, he could not bring himself to care for anything other than what was dead and buried.

Iroh stood up, his graying beard drenched with rain, and his formal military garb ruined. It was then that he made a decision. He would leave the Fire Nation for a time. He had only returned to bury the body. Lu Ten was not there, though. Not anymore. He had to find him. He would not accept that he was gone.

He turned his back on the hill. He called on a small ship, a sack of supplies on his back. He would venture out alone. He would sneak in with the cargo and leave. It was unbecoming of a crown prince, and he knew this, but it was something that needed to be done. He had barely left a note for the Fire Lord. What was written on it was a rumor and a promise: he would find Lu Ten in the depths of what was unknown.

With his back to the world he had thrived in, Iroh took his first step to the journey home.

-

It started with anger. Grief was not like anything else. It was all-consuming and nonlinear. It was all Iroh thought about in his waking hours, all he dreamed about in his unconscious ones. He grasped at his weary face, dug his fingers into his cheeks, stifled the sobs with his sleeves.

He had experienced grief before when he had lost his mother and his wife, but this was not the same. It was impossible to accept the loss of his own child. A parent should always outlive their children, and he told himself this repeatedly. Perhaps that was what was the most unfair of all. There was something profoundly wrong about losing someone so young, someone who was half of who Iroh was.

And the fury resonated within his chest like part of his own heartbeat. It was hot and vengeful, raging with a fire so much angrier than he was used to.

When Iroh awoke, the cargo hold was ablaze. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and he stood, breathing hard. Alarm bells sounded, men came running down the steps with buckets of water, shouting.

He ran up the steps past them, grabbing more buckets and assisting them, until the fire was out. Either way, the damage was done. Black burns ravaged the walls of the hold, supplies were burned to a crisp. Only a few barrels of dried foods were left.

A lanky man with a limp beard spotted him in his dull Fire Nation armor. The man stood into a salute, helmet askew. “General Iroh!” he cried, surprised.

“Stand down, captain,” he replied, tired. “I was not here.”

“Sir?”

“I wasn’t here!” Iroh spat into the poor man’s face, spittle flying. “And when I return to the Fire Nation, you will do well to remember that.”

“But the Fire Lord—”

“Already knows,” he finished for the captain. “Now get out of my way.” Iroh shoved past him, pushing him with a rough hand into the metal wall with a _bang_. He left him there lying on the floor with a stunned expression on his face.

He stepped off the vessel in a haze. The disembarking plank was already laid out, slanting onto the harbor of a rig in one of the colonies in the Earth Kingdom. He set foot on land without a second thought.

There were hushed murmurs that drifted about him. Soldiers and ranked officials alike bowed as he passed, but he paid them no mind. He walked past market stalls, the inviting scents of supper and roasted cured meats, the cloud of spices that trailed after him, the familiar heat of fire flakes.

His heart stopped for a beat. Lu Ten had loved fire flakes as a child.

Iroh squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the calls of his fellow citizens to stop by. He made his way past the gates of the coastal town, past the battlements, the masked men, the fire of his people, and he breathed in freedom to find his own way.

The coins in his purse clinked against each other, rattling as he stopped in villages to buy breakfast. He had hidden himself in Earth Kingdom clothing, the greens and shades of olive obscuring the gold of his eyes. He was a simple, unassuming nonbender named Shu. He took it from the legend of the Cave of Two Lovers he had heard from singing nomads on his way to Omashu. Perhaps he would have thought the story beautiful once, if one of the lovers had not also died in a war.

He glanced up at the walls that surrounded the towering city. It was another stronghold that the Fire Nation had yet to conquer. He had hoped that inside he would find a shrine to the Avatar of some sort. He knew it was far-fetched, but he thought perhaps a shrine to a great spirit such as the Avatar would have enough spiritual energy to help propel him on his expedition.

The guards did not give him much to wonder. They let him in along with a traveling family of merchants. Iroh supposed he was dirty and scraped up. Even his beard was unkempt, his topknot gone. He looked the furthest thing from Fire Nation as possible. If he was the man he was a month ago, he would have thought he could take the city down from the inside in the name of his country.

“Did you hear?” a middle-aged woman said with excitement to another. They were standing outside a shrine to Oma and Shu, just at the peak of the mountain-shaped city. It was not the shrine he was looking for, but he had to come to try.

“What, Aimi? More gossip from the court? King Bumi is celebrating his one-hundred and eighth birthday soon,” responded the other woman.

Aimi shook her head, eyes wide. “It’s not that! There’s intelligence from the front lines that my husband got…you know he works for the king’s messengers. He said that Fire Lord Azulon has died and Ozai is taking the throne! With an inexperienced leader, do you think those Fire Nation ash-makers will finally fall back? We might be able to take them!”

The other woman scoffed. “Don’t get your hopes up. This war has been going on for generations. If there is any hope left, the Avatar will return, and you know what the chances are for _that.”_

Iroh jerked forward, leaning on the earthen wall of the building before him. The women beside him paid him no heed. All he could see was the tiny statue of the two lovers embracing underneath a sculpture of an entrance to a cave, just by a plaque for the shrine. The sunlight made the grooves on every line appear deeper.

For a moment, he was his former self. He clenched a fist at his side, mouth forming a scowl. Lu Ten’s slack face came into view, taking over his mind. _No,_ he thought, _I cannot be led astray from my goal._

His father was dead, and his brother took his crown. Iroh would not be going to the funeral. He did not care for that kind of power anymore. He only cared for Lu Ten.

-

Iroh ventured south, in search of alternatives. He was desperate. Every waking moment he was on his feet, looking with his eyes and his ears. He meditated at shrines, in temples dedicated to various spirits, in gardens meant for serenity. Still, he could not find that thread of energy he wanted, he desired beyond anything else.

He became disillusioned, rife with the agony of yet another failure.

He was no stranger to the ache of his heart and the emptiness that amplified every movement in his bones. His firebending became erratic, bursts of senseless energy with flames of fury at himself and his loss.

He used that same fire to strike down the vines he was currently dodging. The swampy water lapped at his thighs and covered him in a foul stench. Mosquitoes zipped past his ears, and he slapped at the pinching, itchy spots on his skin. The croaks of badger frogs cracked through the air, and the slithering cat gators in the waters did not help matters.

The swamp he had found himself in was bizarre, ominous. There were creaks in the middle of the night that he could not equate to animals, a shiver in the atmosphere that was left unsolved. He cast another fireball at the campfire he attempted to keep, but the wood kept fizzling out without a wind nor explanation. 

Iroh sighed into his hands, shaking.

He only looked up at the sound of musical laughter. He knew that laughter, knew it like it had always been a part of him.

“Lu Ten!” he yelled, voice cracking from disuse. Excitement bubbled in his throat. “Lu Ten, where are you?”

 _I made it,_ he thought, a grin breaking his dried lips, _I’m in the Spirit World! I can save him!_

It had been too long, months in fact. He could almost pretend that none of his suffering happened, if only to bask in the moment of clarity he had afforded himself. He crashed through the banyan grove, thrashing against whipping leaves and squirming plants. The laughter continued to his left, then his right. He followed without hesitation.

The water splashed. He tripped over roots and stumbled past screaming avian-like creatures.

“My son!” he bellowed, just as he saw the back of Lu Ten, shuddering with mirth next to a tree. He was wearing his formal robes, his hair up in a traditional topknot. Even from behind, his son looked the same and as he had remembered him.

Iroh reached for his shoulder.

The laughter stopped. His son disappeared. It was a root that stuck out of the water that was taller than him, and just as wide as a person. It was not Lu Ten.

“No,” Iroh murmured to himself, collapsing to the ground. The swamp water covered him up to his waist. “NO!”

He had run out of fire to bend. He shut his eyes and sobbed. He felt the warmth of tears trail down his cheeks in rivulets. The darkness of the night encased him and choked him, black ropes tying themselves around his neck and his arms to his sides. He could no longer see anything but his own piercing pain as it throbbed.

He thought of the spirits, and how he asked for their energy, their help. They had not answered the call even once, nor gave him a sign. He was lost and his son would never be found.

Iroh fell forward.

He kept falling…

And falling…

Falling…

And then, he rolled ahead onto something soft. Startled, he opened his eyes too see a world he did not recognize. The grass was emerald and ethereal, almost glowing. The field stretched on before him for what seemed like forever. He stood, seeing the bright cerulean of the sky. He followed the invisible string that tugged him along, curious to see where it took him, tears drying on his face.

He turned and saw a cliff edge. Just beyond it, he could see mountaintops. Glittering butterflies fluttered about, and gigantic birds that were as large as dragons flapped by. Gentle lavender mist swirled in the strands of grass and through the fabrics of his suddenly dry clothing.

He walked further still, and on the cliff, he saw a man sitting at a round table. He was bald, and in curious orange and yellow robes, a wooden beaded necklace hung from his neck. He had a white mustache that reached just past his chin, and his skin was wrinkled in old age. As Iroh came closer, he blinked and shook his head. He could not have been seeing an airbender, could he? But no, he had to be, because the elder man had the blue arrow tattoos of Air Nomads’ past, just as he had read in the history texts.

Without moving, he found himself sitting across from him. It was as if something willed him to sit there. He stiffened, stunned at the occurrence.

“Ah, a guest,” said the old man with a kind smile. “I have not had one of those in a long time.”

“Who are you?” asked Iroh, unable to help himself. He should have been attacking this man, this traitor to the world. This airbender was a part of a race that had been bent on destroying the Fire Nation and had been a formidable foe with an army.

He did not realize that he said any of that out loud.

The man raised his eyebrows. “We Air Nomads do not— _did not_ have a formal military, young one,” he said. “I’m afraid that notion is incorrect.”

When Iroh did not respond, the man added, “Gyatso is my name. What is yours?”

“Iroh,” he croaked. “Where are we?”

“The Spirit World, of course,” Gyatso said. He pushed a round tile on the table forward. “Care for a game of Pai Sho?”

Iroh gasped, realization hitting him like lightning to metal on a stormy afternoon. Somehow, he had come to the very place he was seeking. He glanced around, seeing for the first time the odd sites that he must have missed. He finally realized how peculiar the setting was, how otherworldly. Mist did not act this way; birds were not that size.

He turned back to the man and the table. There was a circular board laid out before them, lines carved into it in diagonals. There were round tiles on each side with markings on them, flowers and wheels, and a boat.

“I don’t have time to be playing Pai Sho,” responded Iroh. “I came here to look for someone.” He scrutinized the man, suddenly wary of him. “Why are you here?”

Gyatso looked to him, gray eyes shining. There was something ancient in his gaze, knowing and sad. “I came here to look for someone too,” he said. 

“You haven’t found them?” he queried, trepidation filling him. If this Gyatso had not found who he was searching for, then what hope did he have of finding Lu Ten?

Gyatso fiddled with the tile again. “No,” he said, eyes downcast. “But I find solace in the fact that if he is not here, he is still out there, and the world will have a chance at peace. I tell myself that because I have to believe in him.”

Iroh breathed in, fully facing the man and the table. He observed the tiles, hovering over one that looked like a chrysanthemum. He slid it forward onto a space. He had played Pai Sho a long time ago and learned the basics as a child with his teachers. It was an ancient game that he did not care for, but he was told it was essential if he were to become a proper general and master the art of strategy.

“I came here looking for my son,” Iroh said. He did not know what had come over him, just that he knew he had to share this piece of information. There was something in Gyatso’s words that made him trust him, even if the man was an airbender.

Gyatso offered a white lotus gambit as his first move. “I see,” he answered, voice soft. “I am searching for my son too.”

Iroh stopped in the middle of picking up another tile, eyes wide as he stared at the man.

“Then you must understand,” trembled Iroh, “that I must find him at any cost. I _must_ because he died too young and too soon, and if I find him here, I will bring him back where he belongs.”

Gyatso leaned back on his chair, expression calm and maybe a bit pitying. “If he is indeed here, you will not find him. I have learned that the Spirit World is like that. It tests mortals like us and our resolve. If you are looking for your son in hopes of bringing him back to the world of the living, you will not find him. He does not belong there anymore.”

Iroh growled, banging his fists to the Pai Sho board, and capsizing many of the tiles. “Then why do you keep searching if it’s futile?! I did not come here to fail again!”

Gyatso remained unfazed. He looked at him with a kind, tired face, thick eyebrows scrunched together. “The difference between you and I is a fundamental one, my troubled friend,” he said in a way that infuriated Iroh more. “It is that you are alive, and I am dead.”

At those words, the fight left Iroh almost as quickly as it came to flare inside him.

“I can see that you have so much to live for, just waiting beyond you,” Gyatso went on. “Yet, you find yourself here at a point that could be your lowest, mourning for a son you cannot accept has moved on.” He paused, seeming to take Iroh in. “It is difficult to move on yourself, and I understand this. When I lost my son, and the temples were attacked, all hope was lost, but I know that he is out there somewhere if he is not here. You see, I have found that in the darkest of times, hope is something you give yourself. That is the meaning of inner strength.”

Something broke inside Iroh, and he slumped in his chair. The tears from before welled in his eyes and spilled over. His shoulders shook, his hands quivered. He could taste the salt on his lips. With every breath, he heaved another cry, and another part of him strived to fill the void in his soul with something else. Something new.

“Love does not vanish into thin air, Iroh,” Gyatso whispered across from him. “It remains with us, even in different forms. Reborn with every lifetime and every person we meet.”

“Only the Avatar is reborn,” Iroh brought himself to say in between gasps. “So how can you say something like that?”

“The Avatar is reborn, yes,” said Gyatso with that knowing tone again. “But what is that to say about love? If the Avatar can be born into each new lifetime with a new love, and an old love, what is to say that love itself cannot be reborn? Is your grief not a manifestation of your love? Do you not still love the people you care about, the people that you have left behind?”

“There isn’t anyone else. It’s not the same.”

“No, it isn’t,” agreed Gyatso. “However, I urge you to think of this. Do you think my love for my lost son is different from yours? We cannot separate love’s energy just because the person is separate, just like we cannot redefine love across the borders of the four nations. All of it is the same and manifests within us even as we live on.”

“It’s not the same,” Iroh repeated, adamant.

“You cannot tell me there is no one else you love,” remarked Gyatso with an inquisitive frown.

Iroh stared at the white lotus tile that still sat in the center of the board, untouched by his frustration. The grooves of its carved surface were flawless, and the white paint unchipped. He thought of the lotus flowers in the palace gardens, and how Lu Ten had marveled over them when he had been younger. He thought of how Lu Ten brought his small cousin, Zuko to play in the flowers, to watch the lily pads bob on the surface of ponds, how he had urged Zuko to firebend for him.

Iroh smiled for the first time in many moons. He let out a breath he did not know he had been holding, looking up to Gyatso with an air of transparency. He picked up all the overturned pieces from the floor and onto the table. They played a game of Pai Sho in the speckled illumination of the Spirit World.

-

Iroh decided he would return to the Fire Nation soon. He had to if he were to return to the person he still loved. Nevertheless, he still had to prepare himself for the trip and for the circumstances that would befall him. He was no longer the crown prince. He was a disgraced general. He needed to prepare himself.

So, he trained day and night, punching blasts as far as he could in the forests of the Earth Kingdom. Except, they were not the powerful long-range fire attacks that he was used to. In fact, they were pathetic. Little tongues of flame spouted from his fists and sputtered out in nothing more than a half second. Other times, it was simply smoke. 

He practiced and he tried as much as he could, to no avail. He could not come back to his nation like this. It meant he could not protect himself, nor the person he would return to. He could not teach him if he himself was a burden.

He shivered, rubbing his arms underneath the drab woolen cloak he wore. He had never braved a trip this far north before. There was snow on the ground and icebergs floating just beyond the bay of the village he was near. He must have been a short voyage from the Northern Water Tribe. Even some of the villagers themselves were traders from the north, waterbenders that came for Earth Kingdom vegetables and gave furs in exchange.

He watched some of the waterbenders at the docks, how they pushed and pulled streams between them, redirecting their energy with every stance. Iroh moved with them, hiding in the trees as he did, just to do something to warm his body when he could not conjure enough fire. He felt his chi move within him as he did so.

Still, the frustration that came with being unable to bend his own element weighed on his mind. It became a habit to pretend that he could still firebend the same way the waterbenders could waterbend.

Sighing, Iroh found himself going to the village that evening, looking for food. He needed time to think and center himself. He moved through the streets and people, stuffing his cold hands into his sleeves.

There was a wooden shop sign that swung back and forth in the chilling wind. It was a tavern and it appeared warm on the inside. He felt around his pockets for change and was happy to note that he still had enough money for a cheap meal. He stepped inside, feeling the hearth upon his skin, and thawing him into his core. 

He was about to make his way to the counter where a woman was rounding up flagons of rice wine, when a gentleman sitting by himself at the corner of the room caught his attention. He was Water Tribe and wore the blue and white that was typical of his people. He had long white hair that was balding, dark skin, a thin amount of facial hair, and a quirk at his mouth. In front of him was a Pai Sho board.

Intrigued, Iroh stepped away from the counter and sat across the man.

“Excuse me,” the stranger said, tilting his head, “would you like to play a game of Pai Sho?”

“I suppose I would,” Iroh replied. He took the first tile and placed it in the middle, just like he remembered Gyatso doing.

The man looked alert, then smiled. “I see you favor the white lotus gambit. Not many still cling to the ancient ways,” he said.

“I was taught this by someone,” explained Iroh, a bit mystified by the man’s wording. “It was an interesting strategy.”

“Ah,” said the man, moving to place another tile on the board. “Perhaps, I can teach you more. Would you be interested in learning?”

Iroh glanced upward, seeing the man’s blue eyes twinkle in the lamplight. “Yes,” he responded slowly. “I think I would.”

The man laughed. “Perhaps you would like help finding your fire? I know of men who have knowledge which you seek, and where you might find it.”

Iroh stopped, sucking in a breath.

“My name is Pakku,” the man said. “I have seen you by the water these past few days.” 

Despite himself, he smiled. “Iroh,” he said. “I want to know how to make fire without any anger.”

The two of them played many rounds, until the tavern was filled with drunks and questionable folk. Iroh enjoyed the time he had there, surprising himself in those hours. The thought of finding a new source of fire, a new way to teach Zuko, kept him awake and brimming with energy.

The memory of Lu Ten still lingered under his skin, grasped at his heart, ached. Iroh did not let go of Lu Ten. He could not. But he could learn to accept what had happened. He would find himself and find the true meaning of his loss. He had already made so much progress. His anger at himself and his failures drifted beyond on the rushing tides of the ocean, and like ships they sailed away into the sun.


	2. Like Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara walked to the table and sat on Zuko’s right, between him and Toph. She had bloodshot eyes. “Aang’s in his room meditating,” she stated, a slight tremble in her voice. “I’m worried about him. He’s barely eaten anything.” She let out a breath. “I’ve never seen him like this before. I don’t know what to do.” 
> 
> -
> 
> Or, Zuko takes what he learns from Uncle Iroh's journey to the Spirit World and offers it to Aang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire story was therapeutic for me in many ways, and I'm happy to have written it. I realize that I tend to write about loss a lot (and in different forms), but this was kind of like the epitome of what I have written about so far.
> 
> This chapter deals with Zuko and Aang, and their friendship with one another. Heavily. It's about found family and all that. I always believed that besides friendships and finding yourself, Avatar is first and foremost a story about moving forward and moving on. This is what this entire fic embodies, at least for me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

The past month had been one of the hardest in Zuko’s life, and he was only twenty years old. There had been a shift in power in the Earth Kingdom, and the former generals, nobles, and Ozai-loyalists were pounding at his door, begging for him to make a move, to restart the war. Of course, he had vehemently refused. He did not spend so much time trying to right the wrongs of the past only to add fuel to a dimming fire.

Yet, things were not so simple. New positions meant new alliances, and new alliances meant new problems. The people of the other nations were feeling the pressure as well, vying for an in with the vacuum created in Omashu. It was an important city after all, just a rung beneath the prowess of Ba Sing Se. Omashu was an incredible bastion, part of a renown trade route, and brimming with culture. There was a reason the Fire Nation could not force the city to its knees until the final months of the Hundred Year War.

Ever since King Bumi’s health began to decline, the court in his kingdom was in an uproar. He had not named an immediate successor and did not have any viable heirs. In fact, the elderly earthbender had his eyes set on electing a king from whom he had deemed worthy in his circle. An elected monarch, while not a new concept to Omashu, was a forgotten model in the rest of the Earth Kingdom. Bumi had been king for nearly a century and had the longest reign out of any ruler in history. While that feat in and of itself was prestigious, it did not prepare anyone in the world for a change when he was gone.

So, when the young man from the Chiu family was finally chosen, there was an inevitable uproar. King Bumi did attempt to allay the cries from his people, and he did for a time. They were content that he would be there to guide the man. Bumi was well loved among his citizens, and well known.

However, Bumi had been king for a reason. He was shrewd even with his eccentric mannerisms and machinations. He had helped a man ascend to power that valued peace over wartime, who had strong ties with the other nations through trade, and most notably, supported Zuko. To make things worse, Bumi had made sure that this man was made king just days before he died.

To say things could not get much worse would be an understatement. Zuko had attended the coronation and the funeral within the span of two weeks. His uncle had been there of course, but it was not for any political reasons, but rather because King Bumi had been his personal friend.

His own friends had arrived no sooner than he had landed on his airship. Normally, seeing Aang, Katara, Sokka, Toph, and Suki was a breath of fresh air, but this time it meant an exhausting journey through decorum.

Zuko thought he knew what to expect. He had been to a state funeral before. He expected to give condolences to various people of import, to listen to the speeches spoken without much of a personal touch, the ceremonies, the viewings. He thought he knew, except he did not.

After it all, he and his friends sat in a private sitting room together. It had been set aside for them in the king’s eastern wing. Uncle Iroh was roaming around with a pot of oolong tea. The servants had left them alone to their own devices, and Zuko was appreciative of that. He did not think that he would be able to handle another crowd.

“Things have been hectic back in the Fire Nation,” Zuko said tiredly, hunching forward on his elbows that rested atop a round wooden table. The green glow of the crystals tucked into wall scones illuminated the surface. “The former court wants to take advantage of this situation. I have to return in the morning. I’ve been able to hold them back but…”

Sokka shook his head, an angry expression on his face. He had started to grow a beard, and there was some stubble on his chin. He sat across Zuko. Beside him sat Toph and standing behind her was Suki. “That’s ruthless,” Sokka said with a scowl. “Don’t they have any respect?”

“It’s politics,” sighed Zuko.

Toph groaned into the steaming cup of tea that Iroh handed to her a moment before. “If I’ve learned anything about high society, it’s that no one has any respect,” she said as she sipped on the beverage. “What do they expect to do anyway? Take over the Earth Kingdom? With you at the lead, there’s no way some stuffy old guy is going to get an army.”

“That’s the problem, Toph,” replied Zuko. He slid forward until his chin rested on his arms. “They’re trying to oppose me like they did during the Harmony Restoration Movement.”

Suki huffed, brushing at her Kyoshi Warrior uniform. Her painted makeup was still impeccable, even after a day’s worth of wearing it. “If it gets bad again, my girls and I will volunteer as additional bodyguards. And anyway, don’t they know you have the Avatar on your side? It would be pretty stupid of them to make a move.”

Zuko closed his eyes and exhaled. His thoughts wandered to the Avatar in question. No matter how much he had been worried about things in his own nation, and how the government of one of his allies had suffered a loss, he was the most concerned about Aang. Out of all the things he did not expect, it was the silence of his friend.

No one had expected a joyous occasion upon arrival, least of all from the people that knew King Bumi. Zuko had known that Aang was Bumi’s friend from the time before the war existed, that they had grown up together as children and adventured together in their own way. Zuko just never guessed how much it would affect Aang to see Bumi leave him behind.

For the weeks they had been in Omashu, Aang was withdrawn. He very rarely smiled, and even when Bumi greeted him on his deathbed, it did not reach his eyes. He could not seem to gather enough words to say anything. During the eulogies, Aang spoke with confidence befitting of his title. He spoke on Bumi as a child, as his oldest friend. There were no tears, but the lack of true expression from him jarred Zuko. After all, Zuko guessed it was a cruel twist of fate for the Avatar to come of age at sixteen only to lose a friend who was supposed to come of age with him.

The door creaked open, and into the room stepped Katara. She was dressed in formal Water Tribe clothes just as Sokka was. Her hair was braided back and twisted over her shoulder. Over the four years since the war’s end, she had grown into a graceful woman. Every step she took glided like her element of water. She also radiated a kind of power that was quiet, hidden.

She walked to the table and sat on Zuko’s right, between him and Toph. She had bloodshot eyes. “Aang’s in his room meditating,” she stated, a slight tremble in her voice. “I’m worried about him. He’s barely eaten anything.” She let out a breath. “I’ve never seen him like this before. I don’t know what to do.”

Uncle pulled up the vacant chair on the other side of Zuko, a thoughtful expression on his face. He placed a cup of tea in front of Katara to take. She gave him a grateful smile. “It’s Aang’s way of grieving,” he supplied gently. He took one of her hands and patted the back of it. “It will take some time.”

Katara pulled away, sorrow welling in her eyes. She stared into her tea. A single tear dropped into the cup. “When Aang found out he lost Gyatso and the other airbenders, he cried. He had some sort of _emotion._ When we found out Appa was stolen, it was the same. This time, it’s like he’s trying to force himself to hide it, even from me,” she said.

Sokka looked sadly at his sister. “I’m sure Aang will be fine, Katara.”

“I know it’s just…I feel so helpless,” she answered, slumping into her hands.

Watching her made Zuko feel helpless too. He was sure that the rest of them felt the same way. Aang was normally cheerful, optimistic, even in the face of incredible adversity. He had always been there for Zuko when he needed him, always was the first to reach out to others when he saw that they were in turmoil. He glanced back at the door, a frown forming.

His uncle moved somewhere nearer to him. He could always feel his presence that way. The room was silent for a short while. Then, his uncle spoke. “Perhaps it would be beneficial to let Aang come with you to the Fire Nation tomorrow, nephew. You need him there to quell the court anyway, and this might help him take his mind off things.”

Zuko straightened, looking up at Iroh’s face with surprise.

Beside him, Katara put a hand on her cheek and said, “But Aang and I are supposed to go back to Cranefish Town to help Sokka reform the council. It’s only been a year since the bender supremacists tried to take over, and the city is still uneasy. I don’t know if taking him away from all that will change things.”

Iroh shook his head, an indulgent smile present. “On the contrary, I think this is exactly what he needs…to be away from familiar things for a few days. Staying so close to the Earth Kingdom will only bring back things he does not need to be thinking about for a while.” He paused, wise eyes roving from person to person. “Aang may be young, but his spirit is old. Bumi was the only friend he had left from his childhood, from before any of us and before the war. How do you think he feels losing the last human connection he had left to that time?”

Katara let her head fall into her arms, a muffled cry coming from her throat. “You’re right,” she sniffled, shoulders shaking, “I’m so _stupid._ I should have known.”

His uncle placed a hand on Zuko’s back, golden gaze boring into his. “Now, nephew, what do you say?”

He could not dispute his uncle when he looked at him like that. Zuko agreed without a fight. Toph insisted that she would take care of looking after the city while Aang and Katara were gone, and Suki and Sokka made plans to change the council in their absence.

Iroh finally sat down after allotting the last lukewarm cups of tea. He grimaced at what he deemed was an unworthy flavor, and Zuko found himself chuckling at that. Afterwards, he had a strange look in his eye that Zuko could not pinpoint. When the conversation began to dwindle down, his uncle said, “You mentioned Gyatso earlier, Katara. Who was this person to Aang?”

Katara explained with the help of Sokka. They regaled them with their first trip to the Southern Air Temple, a story that Zuko had only heard in passing. The look his uncle had only confused him more as some sort of understanding replaced it the more they talked.

After the siblings had finished telling them about how Gyatso had his own statue in the courtyard, Iroh interjected. “Have I ever told you about my trip into the Spirit World?” he asked them, surprising them all. “There was a man I met there who played Pai Sho with me…”

-

His Uncle Iroh had told him about his trip to the Spirit World all those years ago in brief snippets, but without any specific details. There were rumors that floated about the capital when he was younger and when his uncle had been missing for nearly a year after Lu Ten’s loss. At the time Fire Lord Azulon was said to be the only one who was aware of his whereabouts. Zuko had taken the demise of his cousin hard, but Iroh had seemed to give up for a time. When he returned to the palace, his uncle was a different man.

However, it was only a year or so later that Zuko was burned and banished by his own father. By then, he had lost all semblance of normality in his life. He would not listen to Iroh the same way he did now. As a result, his uncle focused on Zuko and how to heal him before he shared more of his past. Even then, there were many things he did not share. It had taken years for Zuko to recognize what he had missed. Too long had he not realized that he was not the only one who could be hurting.

He thought of these things and more as he walked the red and gold hallways of the Fire Nation Royal Palace. The dark marble glinted with morning sunlight that shone through the windowpanes lining each side. Crimson curtains billowed inward, gusts catching on the fabric, as servants began to crack the windows open for the day.

Many bowed deeply as he passed. He tried to wave them off early on, saying that they did not have to show him such devoted respect, but the head of household maintained that it was protocol and that it was common courtesy for someone of his stature. It took him a while to accept that. 

The hours were early, and Zuko could just feel the sunrise prickling upon his skin. As a firebender, he was privy to the ways his energy fluctuated based on the time of day. It helped to wake him up, but when it woke him up when there was too much work to do, it was more of an annoyance.

He descended a set of stairs, mindful of the maids that scurried by. He reached the door at the end, propping it open and sliding inside just as the head chef glanced at him. “Fire Lord Zuko,” she said with a tilt of her head, “Are you here to make tea this morning?”

He made his way to the cabinets where he pulled out a porcelain teapot the color of brass. He set it atop its metal stand after filling it with jasmine tea leaves and water. “You know me well, Miki,” he said as he sparked a flame underneath it with a finger.

“You only do this when you are not getting much sleep, Your Majesty,” she stated, moving to a pot of boiling bok choy. “What is worrying you today? Is it the Avatar’s arrival? He has been here for five days now.”

Zuko shook his head. He monitored the heat that came from the teapot, just like his uncle taught him. “No, I’m always happy to have Aang here.”

“Is it that Lady Mai is away with her parents and brother for a month? Or is it perhaps the arrival of Prince Iroh?”

His uncle had decided to visit as well, much to Zuko’s delight. Once he had made the decision that Aang and Katara should come to the Fire Nation, he seemed adamant to come along. He did not know what it was that drew Iroh to Aang at this instance, but if he knew anything about his uncle, it was that he was the caring type. Whatever he wanted to do, Zuko would let him do it.

Zuko smirked, turning his attention to the woman on the opposite side of the counter. Her hair was up in a bun as usual, her eyes crinkled around the edges, thick eyebrows raised. She reminded him of his mother. “You always like to ask me a lot of questions,” he responded.

“If I may be so bold,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “it is part of my duty to care for the royal family.”

Zuko laughed. He returned to his tea, feeling that it was ready to be served. He poured two cups with care. He offered one to Miki who took it from his hands just as she doused her own flame under her pot. He looked at the contents of the golden-brown liquid, watching as stray leaves danced around the middle in a swirl. The flowery scent was calming.

“Aang is helpful,” he said with a soft tone. “In just a day he has already come up with ways to keep the court in check, and to see that we don’t need to invade the Earth Kingdom. He makes them understand that we need this peace.” He sighed, glancing back up to her. “I don’t know what I would do without him. Every day, I learn so much from how he talks to them just as a leader.”

“But…?” she inquired, a quirk at her mouth.

He glimpsed the tea leaves as they hit the bottom of the cup. “I hope I can be as good as him someday. He inspires me, and I am glad that he’s my friend. But even more than that…I hope that asking him to come here was the right decision. I want his time here to help him too.” He stopped, taking a drink. He cupped the tea in his hands. “Uncle was right…as always. Aang does seem happier to be away from the Earth Kingdom for a while, but there’s something missing, and I don’t know what it is.”

“Perhaps closure, Your Majesty,” offered Miki. “Perhaps a friend. From what I have learned in your court in the short span it has existed, even the powerful need those things.”

Zuko drank the last dregs of his tea in silence. He poured another cup for Miki and drained the leaves and the pot, washing out the contents soon after. As his hands grasped at the handle, soap, and water bubbling on the surface, he could not help but feel a pull in his gut. It was the kind that he felt every time he reached a revelation, or when he was on the cusp of something revolutionary.

He turned to Miki and thanked her.

-

Zuko was exhausted. He and Aang parted ways hours ago when a pressing matter on a trade agreement between two islands within the Fire Nation came to the forefront. He left Aang to deal with the squabbling nobles who he had mostly convinced to leave the Earth Kingdom alone, while he dealt with the rival provinces. If stepping around the minefield of international disputes was not enough, the political minutia of the internal workings of the Fire Nation itself was an added problem.

He decided that he needed time outside of the palace. So, what if it was already nighttime?

He passed Katara in the hallway who was making her way to the dining area from the royal physicians’ suite. She had been exchanging knowledge with them for the past few days. “Where are you going, Zuko?” she questioned, halting just for a moment.

“I just need to get some air,” he moaned. “After all of that…”

Katara chuckled. “Yeah, I get it, Fire Lord,” she teased. She lifted a hand and continued on her way. “I’ll see you and Aang later. Make sure you eat or Iroh will be mad!” she shot over her shoulder.

He smiled to himself. Even Katara seemed more content now that Aang appeared better. Though, she did consult with both he and Iroh in the evenings, concern evident as she spoke about him. Zuko could not help but wonder at the strength of Aang and Katara’s relationship with one another. It was like they were in tune with even the slightest change of mood. If one was happy, so was the other.

He inhaled the night air, puffing his chest out. He did feel a little guilty about asking his guards to stand further back than usual, even asking them to cut down on their amounts and hide themselves. He wanted to feel like he was by himself for a change.

Zuko pushed open the secret exit to the courtyards. The gardens behind the palace were not frequented often, and even if they were, it was only by the royal family with some exceptions. There was a wide swathe of land that was tended to and developed generations before him, generations before Sozin even. He had heard that these were the same gardens that the Fire Nation Avatar before Roku traversed at some point. However, he was not sure how much that tale held water.

There were no turtle ducks here, only ancient wild bonsai for shade, thick magnolias, and overgrown bamboo forests. The courtyards the trees surrounded were cracked with age, cobbles rising on top of far reaching roots and discolored from the centuries of baking sunlight. It was the place he had discovered as a child when he went to run from Azula’s stinging cold insults, or his father’s indifference. His mother had rarely come here, in favor of the more public ponds where they could feed the animals together.

Zuko chose a magnolia tree that looked rather gnarled to sit beneath. It was springtime, so its branches let loose a flurry of white and pink petals from flowers overhead. Each one was as large as his hand. Whole buds were bursting with color, bending to brush against his face and his back. He leaned up against the trunk, centering himself with a practiced inhale. He would take a page out of Aang’s book and meditate.

He could feel the tiredness resting on every part of his body. There was a void in energy. Miki had been right; he had not been sleeping well. In fact, he had been sleeping for far less than the recommended time. He had bags under his eyes, weakness in his muscles. He had not had time to eat as much as he would have liked, nor had he had time to keep up with his training. He had not been starving himself—his uncle made sure of that—but he had been eating at odd hours and that in turn changed his appetite.

The stress from his court was not a new occurrence, but after a long journey to and from Omashu, as well as his arguing noblemen, everything took a toll on his mind. He was glad that some of his friends were there to share the load. Though, that same train of thought led him to think about Aang who could not have been faring much better through his suppressed grief. (Even if the Avatar had refused to acknowledge it.)

He forced himself to relax. _Concentrate, Zuko,_ he told himself, _Feel the sun. Never mind that the moon is out._

Every aching bone in his body seemed to sigh in relief. Soon, everything was starting to fall away. He thought he could hear a breeze through tall grass, see the shimmering wings of bedazzled butterflies as they made their way through an everchanging forest of multihued mists—

_BANG!_

Something hit him upside the head and Zuko’s eyes snapped open. His temples were throbbing, dark spots flickered in and out of his vision. He could taste blood in his mouth. He coughed, struggling to stumble up.

He was face-to-face with a masked assailant, a steaming sword in hand. The end of the hilt was reddened with speckled blood. They were wearing all black from head to toe and observed him for but a second before they attacked again.

“A disgraced prince like you would be too stubborn to die immediately,” spat a feminine voice from behind the screen of the mask. The enemy lurched forward.

Zuko lifted his arms to defend himself. A blast of flame arched into his sight, too bright and hurting. White spots joined the black ones, dancing and dizzying him to no end. He swayed to the side.

He was tired, so tired. He had a headache that splintered his skull. He could feel himself fading out of consciousness. He was sure he had a concussion. He shot out a pathetic fireball to counter, just as he heard men yelling after him, spears drawn, the royal guards ready for a fight.

He pitched backward, the fuzzy spots finally overtaking him. He felt strong arms steady him from behind, heard a familiar voice shouting, could feel the fire mix with air, and the earth shudder with sudden influence.

“I’m not losing another friend,” said that voice into his ear. It was a controlled anger, but underneath it all, there was desperation.

-

Zuko started to come to when he heard muffled voices. His eyes were shut, and they felt like lead. He could not open them. He heard a heavy sigh, and crinkling of sheets. A weight at the foot of his bed.

“…not your fault, Aang,” said the comforting voice of Uncle Iroh.

“It is!” insisted Aang. Zuko could hear his footsteps pacing around the room. “If Katara hadn’t known that Zuko left to go outside the palace, then we wouldn’t have been able to find him when we heard the alert!”

“The guards had it under control.”

“But what if they didn’t? What if Katara and I hadn’t been there when he passed out? He could have _died!”_

Zuko heard some shuffling and another person sat near his left foot. There was a beat of quiet with only the sound of rough breathing and the clenching of fists. He would not have been able to hear it at all if it were not already so silent.

“If I lost Zuko too,” Aang started, “I don’t know if I—” His voice cracked. Zuko could feel the bed still and then shiver almost imperceptibly.

The person next to his right foot moved a little closer to his left. “Aang,” his uncle said with that gentle, fatherly way of his, “you did not lose him. No matter what happened, he survived, and all of us are thankful for it, you know. You cannot change what has happened.”

“I know,” came the somber reply.

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” continued his uncle. “You are blaming yourself for something that did not happen.” He did not speak for a moment and then added, “You are also not allowing yourself to grieve properly.”

When Aang did not say anything more, Iroh went on. “I know why this attack has you so shaken, and I understand. You have experienced loss in ways that none of us will, and with this loss too you are feeling how alone you are. But you know that even the Avatar cannot be alone. No matter what, you have your friends that are still here, right now.

“You feel a part of yourself is gone, even more so than when you had lost your people, because when you met Bumi you must have felt hope again…that your friends from before might still be around. I am here to tell you that it is alright that you felt that hope, that you feel this loss. None of us are infallible, and neither are you.”

Aang shuddered a breath.

“Love does not vanish into thin air. It remains with us, even in different forms. Reborn with every lifetime and every person we meet,” spoke Iroh. “A very wise man once told me that.”

Zuko felt his uncle leave the room, his footfalls light on the tiles. Aang remained sitting on his bed, breathing hard, as if grasping for composure in a storm that was sure to arrive.

He felt cool water on his forehead, and he opened his eyes to see Katara’s hands gleaming with blue light as she healed him. She smiled down at him. There was something sad in her eyes. “You’re awake,” she whispered. “Aang will be happy.”

He glanced to Aang, whose form was sitting stiffly at the end of the bed. He looked like he was hardly holding himself together.

“Aang,” Zuko muttered, and his friend saw him with red-rimmed eyes. “Come to the courtyard with me.” 

“Zuko!” gasped Aang. “You’re up!”

“The courtyard,” he repeated. “When Katara is done I need you to come with me.”

He saw the brief exchange Katara and Aang had above him, curious stares, and shrugs. With reluctance, Katara let him sit up. The disapproval was written all over her face. She had made sure that he had a fresh set of bandages around his head before she released them out of the physicians’ ward, and Aang had requested for her to follow them, as well as a set of guards. Zuko let the overprotectiveness slide for once. He was tired anyway, and it was the least he could do.

When the three of them entered through the back gate, the moon was high in the sky. It must have been well past midnight. When he had arrived earlier, it had been dinnertime. He gestured for Aang to sit beneath the oldest looking magnolia tree, and Zuko followed when he sat across him. Katara, unsure of what to do, sat on Aang’s side.

“What are we doing here, Zuko?” asked Aang. The redness in his eyes had not yet disappeared.

Zuko examined him, from his orange and yellow Air Nomad robes that only covered one shoulder, to the stark blue arrow tattoos that ran from his head to his arms. He thought of the finality of it all, of how Aang was the only one in the world that remembered what it was like to have a peacetime that was not marred by the memory of unending battles and death. He thought of Bumi and his crackling laughter, his strange but clever ways. He too had known a world without war. It had taken Bumi’s whole life to get that world back.

Instead of answering the question, Zuko smiled. “My Uncle Iroh went to the Spirit World years ago when he lost Lu Ten,” he began. “He told me he met someone that helped him through.”

Aang stared at him.

Zuko could not help himself. He laughed. He made himself sit in a lotus position and watched as Aang followed suit. “I think I know how to get into the Spirit World, at least for a short time. This garden is old, and it has an energy here I think we can both use. I’m sure you can get into the Spirit World easily.”

Aang raised a brow. “It takes a lot of meditation…and I’m the Avatar. I only know of a handful of people that can make it into the Spirit World without a guide.”

“Then be my guide, Aang,” Zuko said. “I know where to go. I can feel it. Just trust me.”

The two of them looked at each other for a moment, Katara smiling in the background. She nodded at Aang, urging him to go.

Zuko closed his eyes like he had before. He felt the energy swirling around him, the colored mists appearing out of nowhere. He felt Aang’s invisible hand guide him along through the ethereal barrier between the material world and the spirits’. He could hear his uncle’s pride as if it were real, telling him the way to the man with the Pai Sho table.

Zuko opened his eyes to see Aang beside him. It was a version of Aang that was the same sixteen years as he was in the material world, but with the Air Nomad attire that Zuko had found him in.

“Come on, Aang,” said Zuko with a grin, “There’s someone I think you should meet.”

The two of them walked through the tall grass. There were glorious creatures that flew about their heads, the mystic clouds of stardust and moonbeams, the shining hues of leaves and vines. They reached a cliff that overlooked a forest with a backdrop of a purple mountain range. A man in Air Nomad robes with a beaded necklace at his neck sat next to a Pai Sho board.

Aang gasped when he saw the man before them. “Gyatso?”

The old man looked up at them, something new and primal and beautiful lighting up his face. “Hello, Aang,” he responded. “I have been looking for you.”

“How can we meet here? I thought the Spirit World tests you and—”

“Then the Spirit World knows that you have accepted that you cannot take me back with you,” Gyatso said. He stood up to meet them. He put his hands on Aang’s shoulders. “How you have grown.” He frowned. “But I know that look. Something is troubling you.”

Aang glanced over at Zuko, understanding shining in his gray eyes. He introduced them and Gyatso welcomed Zuko with open arms.

“I think…I think I’m having trouble accepting that I can’t bring a friend that I have lost back with me,” said Aang as he turned back to Gyatso. “How do I accept that Bumi is gone?”

Gyatso was warm when he answered, a campfire in a snowstorm, the light of the sun through the cracks of a canopy. In many ways, he was like Zuko’s uncle. “It takes time, young one, and fear, and heartache, but you have done it before. You have pushed through, and you can do it again.”

Zuko went to Aang’s other side, placing an arm around his shoulders as well. He finally felt the worry he had for the past few days begin to dissipate.

“But first,” remarked Gyatso, “you must allow yourself to grieve, and then, like winds whistling through the trees, the pain will begin to drift away.”

When Aang finally let himself cry, Zuko was there to hold him close. He was his friend, his brother, the one he looked up to. He thanked the spirits and he thanked his uncle for allowing him this one piece of his heart to live on in the family he had chosen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the end. I hope you liked reading this thing. Please leave a comment and/or some kudos down below!


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